


I Swear I Don't Have A Gun

by LadyLustful



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, F/M, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Sad Haytham, Sad with a Happy Ending, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, depressed Haytham, he thinks his son might Haytham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23501878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLustful/pseuds/LadyLustful
Summary: Modern day. Divorced Abstergo executive Haytham Kenway attempts to slit his own throat with a shaving razor on the morning of his fortieth birthday. He survives, but the road to recovery is long and hard, calling into question his entire life so far and his relationships with every soul he knows.
Relationships: Kaniehtí:io | Ziio/Haytham Kenway
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To Moth, because all questionable ideas need encouragement. title from Nivana

Prologue

"Are you Kaniehtí:io?"  
"Who is that?"  
"Shay Cormac, I work with your ex-husband Haytham Kenway."  
"What made you think I want anything to do with this man?"  
"Maam... He tried to commit suicide. :Left a note letter adressed to you, full of regrets and apologies."  
"What? How?"  
"He tried to slit his own throat with a shaving razor, unless you mean why, in which case I haven't a bloody idea. He's still alive, stable, being rushed to Eden Hospital as we speak, so he has a good chance of survival. He's lucky I found him when I did."  
"Yes. Lucky. Thank you, Shay."

Haytham Kenway is rushed through the operating room doors at 10 am. At 11.33 doctors Nightingale and Da Vinci place the last stitches on his throat and send him off to be monitored in post-op. At a little past twelve, he wakes up and is pronounced stable, to be moved to psychiatric care as soon as possible.

The psychiatric ward turns out a lot better than expected. It's not a ghastly gothic Victorian monstrosity, nor it is a disinfectant scented fluorescent lighted concrete nightmare of the Reagan era - instead it's a fairly new outfit, put together after the last Iraq war and with walls in pastels other than green. It's almost pleasant. Or it would be, if he weren't plagued by the fact that he attempted suicide, the reasons why he did it, and the thought he failed.


	2. Chapter 2

"Mr Haytham Kenway?"  
"Yes, that's me."  
"I'm Lucy Stillman I am a psychotherapist. I would like to talk to you, if you don't mind?"  
"No, I don't suppose I do."   
"Can you tell me why you think you are here?"   
"Because I failed."  
"Failed?"  
"I failed at suicide, or I wouldn't be sitting here talking to you. And I failed at living first, or I wouldn't have tried to kill myself in the first place."  
"Can you elaborate?"  
"I am forty years old, I am a corporate executive at Abstergo, unless they managed to fire me already for my absence, I have been married, once, briefly, the divorce almost took longer than the whole thing, to the love of my life, I haven't had a serious date since, I have a son, Raton-something, I hate that I can't pronounce it, he's nine. I see him on alternate Sundays. He's a not a bad kid, but I don't think he gives a damn about me. For all he cares, I might just drop off the face of the earth and die. That's what he told me, you know.  
"My father lives in England, my mother took care of me after they divorced but she only wanted custody to spite him, she sent me off to a boring school, sorry, boarding school, always told me I was too much like him, not that I wasn't trying not to be, sorry if that's confusing. I used to fence, you know. The only way I was like my father, I took up fencing, won the school championship in ninetysomething. My mother was livid. I would have thought her to be proud or at least ambivalent, but no, she was livid. I tried to reach out to father, you know, he's a nice man, very odd sometimes but all heart, but I don't think I am like him enough to get on with him. Yet, I am enough like him to offend my mother.  
(Note: patient's father is a recovering alcoholic, ex-Navy, discharged for conduct unbecoming, twice divorced, owns a "pirate cruise" business in Wales, no history of mental disease besides substance abuse, criminal record: multiple counts of minor offenses over course of nearly 60years.)  
"My father wanted me to go into the pirate cruise business with him, but I hate sailing. I just wasn't cut out for it. Oh, well, Connor likes it well enough, maybe he will inherit the business. That's what my father calls my son. Connor. I didn't even get to name him but my father did.  
"First time they met, he told my ex-wife holding my newborn son in her arms "Jaysus, lass, picked a hard name to say didn'tja? Ya don't mind if I call'im Connor? It's a fine Welsh name for the grandson of a Welshman that this Welshman can actually pronounce." She likes him better than me I swear. And so does my son, with reciprocity. And I am a failure both as son and as father."  
"So now I have nothing except my work really. It's my whole life and yet I take less and less pleasure in it. Even my friends are people I work with. Juhani, Shay, Charles Lee, that's a military laison, I swear he stole that mustache from Magnum, not that I watch television. Much. He's like me, divorced with twin sons, and all he got was custody of his dog. Spado. Dreadfully misbehaved little creature, but cute in a way. He has this way of looking at you, you know. And Juhani's got a daughter, I never met her. We don't usually go to the sort of places a little girl would be inclined or allowed to frequent, even if they do sometimes permit Pomeranians. Shay's single, and he copes a lot better with it than I do."  
"Was there any particular even that prompted your action?"  
"No, god no. I just woke up and I realised that I was forty years old, that I had nothing but a family that didn't care for me, a job I did not enjoy and friends who only stick with me because I am usually the one who pays the cab fare at the end of their drinking spree. And I decided that I would be better off if I just slit my throat and went out with dignity."


	3. Connor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now, a look at Connor.

„Connor? Are you okay?”, asks Evie.

They're in a small grass-covered lot near Ziio's apartment where they had gone to play football – or soccer, as the Americans call it. The level-headed English teenager is Connor's occasional babysitter, and they've bonded, having similar personalities and taste in pop culture.

„It's dad”, says Connor. „I told him I hated him and he should go and die and now he's in hospital. He could die and I will have killed him.”

„Listen up, Ratonhnhaké:ton”, says Evie. She only uses his full name rarely, and pronounces it oddly, but well enough. „You did not injure your father. You did hurt his feelings but that, although unkind, can hardly put a man in danger of dying. All that matters is the next time you see him, you are going to give him the most heartfelt apology you can muster.”

„I think I cursed him.”

„Why do you think so? Curses aren't real outside of Harry Potter and television.”

„Clara O'Dea said her father said Native people have magic powers, and if they curse someone, bad stuff happens.”

„I happen to know Clara's father and he has two problems: alcohol and credibility. Actually he has more problems, but those aren't relevant to this discussion. Now, do you want to kick the ball around some more, or would you rather go home to make biscuits and a get-better card for your father?”


End file.
